


but burn, burn, burn like fabulous purple roman candles

by blastellanos



Category: National Football League RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 09:53:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6951562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blastellanos/pseuds/blastellanos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sunday nights and the nights don't get better than this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	but burn, burn, burn like fabulous purple roman candles

**Author's Note:**

> Set after Superbowl XLVII. 
> 
> Beta'd by the lovely, Ash. 
> 
> Title is adapted from _On the Road_ , by Jack Keroauc. The big change being because I used purple, instead of yellow. This is all fictional.

Sunday nights and the nights don’t get better than this. It’s early February, there’s no snow in New Orleans and it’s certainly way too hot in the suite they’re celebrating in. Joe’s sticky with champagne, because Lewis had popped a bottle all over him and a few other players-- Pitta, he thinks, and maybe Anquan. Maybe Torrey. 

He’s too tipsy to remember. Too keyed up on excitement and the ecstasy of the win. 

Someone--  _ Haloti _ \-- grabs him by the shoulders and shakes him roughly. While someone else whoops in excitement and starts some chant about Tucker and his game winning field goal. The atmosphere is electric and Joe can feel it like fire in his blood. But he can’t stop the feeling-- he doesn’t want to anyways. 

He’s never felt so excited. He’s never felt anything like this. Joe can’t stop it-- winning the fucking superbowl-- the highlight of his job. Fucking MVP. 

Fucking amazing. 

He’s flushed-- way too fucking keyed up-- he needs a minute to breathe and he separates himself from the crowd (enduring a rousing drunk round of  _ for he’s a jolly good fellow _ ) with Terrell and Ray as he heads out the door. They’re fucking wasted. 

He’s pretty sure everyone is. 

He shrugs Ray off after a moment and dodges getting pulled into a conversation with Newsome and Harbaugh. 

Outside on the balcony is sweet relief. He breathes out cigar smoke and sweat and alcohol and breathes back in the air of the city. Even the slight breeze is welcome after how hot and over the top everything felt. He’s still excited and the electric feeling prickles on his skin, his hair is raised up. He leans against the wrought iron and breathes. 

“You okay?” Dennis’ voice is soft over the sound of raucous traffic below. It’s backed up, music playing and horns honking, lights flashing. And Joe starts at being addressed-- at Dennis’ warm fingers against his elbow, getting his attention. The touch is like fire and Joe shivers from head to toe with it. 

He swallows a little hard and curls his fingers and turns to look at Dennis. Who is just as good as he is, happy, with a lopsided grin and his eyes dark. Joe’s looking at him and his gaze can’t stop. Joe keeps looking at his face looking for a sign. He doesn’t know of  _ what _ . 

“Yeah, I’m--” Joe starts and his voice is too low, too breathy, too needy. Joe thinks Dennis probably notices, the way Joe cuts himself off, and bites his lower lip and forces his gaze out to the city lights beyond, where someone is lighting their building in purple and gold. 

It sends the shiver through him again and his fingers clasp together, squeezing, wringing, trying to keep his hands at bay. It doesn’t work entirely, because he lets go and he reaches out to Dennis and grabs him light around the wrists. 

Dennis’ eyes drop down to look at Joe’s fingers circling his wrists. Joe can only feel his pulse racing and the warm skin and he suddenly  _ wants _ so bad it fucking hurts and he feels it crawling up in him-- hard and cloying and he’s not sure-- one minute to the next. 

But his mouth is on Dennis’, and Dennis has his big hands at his hips, pulling him closer. They’re shadowed, dark enough, especially when Dennis pushes him back and Joe is suddenly caught between the wall of the hotel balcony and Dennis. 

Warm, wide, strong, perfect Dennis. And Joe’s fingers scrabble at his shoulders and his leg comes up and he tries to  _ scale him _ , never breaking the kiss. Just breathing in Dennis’ air and scent and just sinking into all of it. 

Fuck it’s  _ so good _ . 

Dennis leans in and kisses him again and Joe can't help but dig his nails into Dennis’ shoulders. Dennis makes a noise, low and deep and it goes straight to Joe's cock. It’s-- oh fuck, he’s already riding high on the ecstasy of all of it and all he wants is to let it all out. 

(There’s parts of him that know that there’s good ways to do this, people he should be going to--  _ his wife-- _ but now all he can concentrate on is how Dennis’ jaw feels, stubble scraping at his own, and how wide his hands are, long fingers, the muscles he can feel beneath his own fingertips on Dennis’ shoulders.)

“No-- wait--” Joe sighs the words out and Dennis stills. Joe lowers himself, biting his lower lip, and he can feel how hot his own cheeks are and he spins them a little, pushes Dennis back against the wall. “Let me…” Joe mumbles. And Dennis doesn’t protest. 

Just runs his short nails through Joe’s short hair and keeps his focus on him. 

Dennis doesn’t stop him, when Joe’s fingers fumble at the button on his dress pants, or pulls the zipper down, or slips his hand in between the fabric of his jeans and the cotton of his boxers. 

The noise Dennis makes-- it’s just like breathing in-- but sharper and when Joe looks up, Dennis has his head tipped back, throat exposed and Joe slides his mouth along the column there. Dennis shivers, tastes like sweat. 

Joe wraps his fingers around Dennis and strokes him, slow and a little awkward with the angle, but Dennis makes another low and quiet noise and his nails dig in a little. It makes Joe shiver too-- and he kisses Dennis’ throat, runs his teeth along the skin and then pulls back. 

“Kiss me,” Dennis mumbles. Joe leans in, a little closer, and kisses Dennis, his hand not stopping. He can feel Dennis swelling in his hand, and Joe  _ loves _ that feeling. He bites Dennis’ lower lip a little and strokes him faster. 

“We won,” Joe whispers and he slips his hand into Dennis’ boxers. The feel of him, hot and heavy in his hand makes Joe’s toes curl. He kisses Dennis again. “Fuck you’re hot.” He pants out. Suddenly, he feels as though he can’t breathe. 

He’s a little dizzy and punch drunk-- but this is right where he wants to be. Dennis feels good in his hands, the little noises he makes are perfect, and Joe’s eyes close a little as he focuses on the quiet breathy noises and the way Dennis’ hands stroke lightly over his hips. He wants Dennis’ hands on his bare skin, wants to feel him everywhere, and breathe him in. 

Take it all in at once and just be there with him. It makes his heart stutter and trip a little, to think about what he might be going for. And everything is highlighted-- everything feels better, and he can feel Dennis’ reaction as he rubs his thumb over the head of his dick, feels the damp slick of precome. 

And fuck-- it’s all downhill from there. Or uphill. Everything feels flipped upside down; it’s hard to tell. Dennis’ lips are parted, breathing heavy, and Joe presses light kisses to them, scrapes his teeth along the soft skin there and scrapes his stubble against them, just to feel Dennis’ warm uneven breath. 

Joe feels unmade. 

Unraveled. 

It’s a feeling like electricity that sizzles through him like a hot flash, makes his blood boil, hair prickle again. Joe pulls back and breathes-- tries and fails to catch his breath. His heart’s pounding, his palms feel damp and it’s all he can do not to wipe them on his dress pants. 

There’s dirt on the balcony he can see when he looks down. Doesn’t stop him going to his knees. Dennis looks down at him, eyes even darker, and he sees the shadows flare and die as cars pass by below and he takes one steadying breath and tugs Dennis’ pants down a little, just enough. 

Damp palms against strong thighs and Joe leans in, breathes in, forehead pressing to Dennis’ stomach and he feels his breathing shallow-- fast, quick, maybe scared. Maybe excited. 

Dennis’ nails rake through his hair again and Joe doesn’t look up. His nails dig into Dennis’ thighs. 

“Well?” Dennis says. Joe feels laughter bubble up, hysterical as he hesitates.

“Well?” Joe repeats and Dennis tips Joe’s head back. 

The look Dennis is giving him sends shivers right down Joe’s spine, settles heat low in his stomach, curling and drowning out the butterflies. 

“What’re you waiting for?” Dennis asks. He reaches down himself and Joe is mesmerized by the movement. He watches as Dennis’ hand disappears into his own boxers and watches as Dennis pulls himself out. Joe’s not really so much-- where he’s looked a  _ lot _ but he’s imagined Dennis before. But this is even better-- the reality of him there, hard and perfect, Joe swallows roughly and keeps his gaze up, lips parted, and Dennis moves forward just enough to rub the head of his dick against Joe’s lips.

Joe thinks he might die on the spot. 

Joe’s hesitation is more from fear than anything else. How is this going to change everything? There’s the nervousness there, but it’s hard to put it off when Dennis is  _ right there _ . Joe can feel Dennis’ eyes down on him, can feel them burning into him and Joe looks up again. Meets Dennis’ gaze because if they’re gonna do this, it’s gonna be all in. 

Joe opens his mouth and leans in the rest of the way, listens to the hitch of Dennis’ breath as he closes his lips around him. Presses the flat of his tongue to the underside of his head and hollows his cheeks. Joe has done this before-- not  _ much _ and not often, but often enough-- in college, at least-- that this isn’t as uncomfortable as it was the first time. 

Dennis pulls him in and Joe doesn’t fight. It’s good. Dennis tastes good-- soap from the locker room showers and sweat, perfect. Joe’s hands move up and press Dennis by the hips back into the wall, pins him there. He can feel the shift of his hips as Dennis tries to move forward; but Joe wants to be the one in control of this. 

It’s easy for Joe to take control,  _ more _ control, once they’ve started. Dennis gives in to it too, he feels the tension leave him and the way he melts back against the wall, hand pressed now to the back of Joe’s neck. Joe moves his head, slides down further and then pulls back, wrapping the other hand around the base of Dennis’ cock. He squeezes there, moves his hand with his mouth as he slides up towards the tip and then back down. 

Dennis’ nails are digging into his neck and the noises he make are being drowned out a little by the traffic below. He wishes he could hear more-- but he hears enough. A panting whisper of his name. And  _ more _ and  _ please _ . It’s easy to give in to it. 

Joe swallows down his own saliva and tastes precome when he does. He pulls back and pants out harshly, looks at Dennis in the flickering lights. Sees him now slick with saliva, precome beading at his slit, hard and dark and twitching a little. 

He wants Dennis  _ bad _ . And he suddenly is thinking about more than just a half-assed blow job on the balcony and wonders how hard it’d be to get somewhere else-- alone and to get Dennis undressed and spread out all for him. The desire is so strong, he tastes it in the back of his throat. Can feel it rising up and consuming him from the inside out. 

Joe stays pulled back and on his knees and looks up at Dennis. 

“I need to get you alone,” Joe says, his voice is rough, rasping. Dennis’ eyes are so dark. Joe’s breathing roughens more. And he carries on, spilling whatever dumb fucking things come to the forefront of his mind. “I need to hear you. I-- I’ve got to see you.” 

The desperation in his voice isn’t lost on Dennis, whose cheeks flush even more red, biting his lower lip hard. Joe stands and hastily, but carefully as he can, tucks Dennis back into his pants and leans in to kiss him, light and like a promise. 

“There’s rooms here,” Dennis points out, his gaze skittering to the streets below and Joe nods a little. Slow and careful. 

“Find one, text me, I’ve got to…” Joe trails off and Dennis’ look is, briefly, puzzled. But Joe smiles and tries to be reassuring and Dennis kisses him again. 

“Don’t leave me waiting too long; I might just have to do it myself.” Dennis’ voice is teasing, low and dark and it sends another shiver down Joe’s spine. Dennis and him part ways, Joe taking a moment to catch his breath on the balcony. Every time he licks his lips, though, he can taste Dennis. 

He comes in after a few moments later after dusting his knees off as best as he can. He finds Tucker at the bar and pulls him away by his elbow. 

“Excuse us, ladies,” Joe says to the two cheerleaders Justin is chatting up. They’re red-faced, drunk too. Justin has what he needs, too. Of that, Joe’s certain. He pulls Justin to the side and surreptitiously glances around the room; but no one is really paying much attention. He rubs a hand over his mouth, wondering if what’d he’d been doing is broadcasting everywhere; just the simplest of fears rolling through him. 

Justin’s giving him a look, fuzzy and a little unfocused and Joe isn’t entirely sure that Justin is going to even remember this in the morning. Even if he did, Joe’s reasonably certain that Justin is the kind of “bro” who doesn’t really tell about things like that. Still, he breathes uneven and figures the best way to bring it up. The best way to ask. 

It’s a little nerve wracking anyways. 

“Hey,” Joe says and Justin’s gaze is darting between Joe and the girls he’d left behind. Justin’s gaze flickers back to him though when Joe speaks. “You have like… stuff?” Joe asks. Justin’s look is blank and not understanding. So Joe makes a somewhat crude hand gesture to articulate-- since the words weren’t coming to him. 

“Oh!” Justin says and then nods a little. He presses a key into Joe’s hand. “Go wild, buddy, I think these lovely ladies and I are going to the pool.” He says and then wanders off. With a “room’s stocked” over his shoulder. Joe pockets the key card and texts Dennis the change of plans. 

From the corner of his eye, he sees John and his wife and a stab of almost guilt goes through him but he’s come too far, by this point, and the only way through is surging forward. He’s not thinking rationally, because every time he takes even a moment to think-- he’s back on his knees looking up at Dennis. 

* * *

Joe gets to Justin’s room first and it’s as neat as he expects it to be, the drawers are quickly tossed and he finds what he’s looking for. Condoms and lubricant and-- well, Justin must have had high hopes about their abilities to beat the Niners. That was celebration sort of times. Unless he was gonna drown himself in women if they lost as well.

Well. 

Dennis knocks and Joe lets him in, feeling breathless again; with his chest incredibly too tight and his heart racing. Dennis is quiet, shedding his jacket and his tie, and Joe watches the muscles move underneath the white dress shirt and feels taken in. 

It’s not going to be long now-- but Joe moves over to Dennis, fingers catching lightly on the buttons, undoing them with haste. There’s no time for the slow purposeful unwrapping he’d envisioned-- because soon, it’s fingertips on skin, and Joe’s got his mouth on Dennis’ again, panting out harsh breaths through his nose. 

Dennis makes a noise as Joe’s nails scrape along the skin of his abdomen and Joe feels him shiver completely through. Joe pushes Dennis back, edges him over to the bed until he falls down against it. Joe doesn’t stop, climbs up alongside him, settling between long legs. 

His hands are moving everywhere, over Dennis’ clothed thighs, over the bare skin of his stomach, watching him look messy and spread out before him, dark hair wild and eyes dark, color high on his cheeks. He can see the erratic rise and fall of his chest. It’s too much to take.    
Joe leans back and gets his own shirt off and kneels down at the side of the bed, knees on the hard floor, as he works on getting Dennis out of his pants. It doesn’t take long. Dennis lifts his hips to facilitate the removal. Dennis sits up and looks at Joe between his naked thighs. 

“You sure you want this?” Joe asks, looking up at Dennis, gazes meeting. Dennis’ fingers slide through his hair again, down the base of his skull and over his neck, grip tight. Dennis’ smile is faint and crooked. 

“What’re you waiting for?” Dennis repeats. Joe breathes and moves up, kissing Dennis again, invading his space until he’s back against the bed, underneath him, skin against skin. 

It’s perfect-- they’ve always made a good team and this-- this is incredible. He shifts a little, gets it perfect and rolls his hips forward just enough that his cock rubs against Dennis’. The noise Dennis makes is worth the wait, muffled into his own arm, Joe sees the color staining down his neck and into his chest, blood rushing everywhere. 

Fucking awesome. 

“You look so good,” Joe whispers to him as he kisses him again, hands trailing over the strong chest and down his stomach. Joe hesitates again-- but it’s not from fear. This is simply categorizing, looking down at Dennis and memorizing. The way his torso slims down and the cut of his hips, the muscles in his leg, and the freckles sprinkled there. The way he looks tonight. It clenches something tighter in Joe’s chest and he can feel a feeling too powerful to name bubble up in his chest, choking him out. 

Dennis’ mouth is open and Joe wraps his hand around him again, stroking him slowly. 

“You’re gonna wanna do that,” Joe tells him and he grabs Dennis’ hand to guide him. Watches him with hooded, dark eyes. He looked good. Watched as Dennis stroked himself, breathing shuddering and Joe grabs the items from earlier. 

His nerves disappear, listening to the way Dennis moans as he touches himself. He’s distracted, watching the slide of Dennis’ hand, the way he curls his fingers, the way his thumb moves. Joe waits while Dennis’ hand is on a downstroke, spreads the lube on his fingers, and takes the head of Dennis’ cock into his mouth as he warms it between his fingers. 

Dennis groans, a sound that makes Joe’s cock twitch and then harder as Dennis grabs the back of his head and pushes him down a little more. Joe doesn’t mind at all, takes it in and makes a noise around him as Dennis rocks his hips up, thrusting into Joe’s mouth. 

It feels good, slowly driving Joe crazy, and finally--  _ fucking finally _ \-- he slips his finger into Dennis. Who hisses in a sharp breath and then breathes out a noise that’s almost a moan, so quiet it’s hardly distinguishable from a breath. Joe slides his finger in deeper, slow and careful-- trying to make it not hurt.

He can feel the way Dennis is tight around him, clenching and quivering and making noises that Joe is going to dream about the rest of his life he’s sure. But it’s all down/uphill from there. Perfect. Dennis stroking himself, squirming a little, relaxing around him and begging him  _ more, more _ . 

Joe wants to drag it out, remember everything; but he can’t take too long either. He’s feverish and desirous--  _ what was that quote _ \-- and there’s nothing else he can do besides give in to it fully. Wholly lose himself in it. He presses his fingers in deeper, watches the flush spread over Dennis’ pale skin. Watches his mouth open wordlessly, just sounds. 

Joe wants to kiss him again and almost does, but he’s afraid to, afraid to move up, even as he’s thinking about it-- constantly in the back of his mind. There’s almost no escape from it; he doesn’t want to escape from it anyways. 

“Please, Joe,  _ please _ ,” Dennis’ voice is almost a plea. Wanting too-- possibly as much as Joe does. Maybe even more. Joe doesn’t think that’s possible but maybe. He moves his fingers out and pulls back. Looks at Dennis again spread before him and shifts in a little closer, big hands going to the inside of Dennis’ thighs to spread them a little wider. 

“You sure?” Joe asks. 

Dennis nods and Joe opens the condom one handed and rolls it on. Practiced ease, they’d call it, if someone was announcing his bedroom shenanigans which-- thankfully, no. He thinks it, only to preserve whatever semblance of control he still has. 

Because Dennis looks perfect and Joe wants nothing more than to plunge in and take everything-- but he has to be careful. Joe shifts in a little closer and steadies himself with one hand on Dennis’ hip and uses the other to hold himself straight as he pushes in. 

Dennis is fucking  _ tight _ . He can feel the give of him as he thrusts forward a little, inching forward slowly, as Dennis shifts his own position, bending his knees more. 

“Oh  _ fuck _ , Joe,” Dennis gasps the words out, torn from him-- surprised. Joe puts his head down, biting his lower lip, concentrating. It’s good-- it makes all the air rush from his lungs. It’s better than he imagined it would be. He’s imagined it more than he should have. Sometimes at practice, or just seeing him on the plane, lost in thought. 

Joe is somewhat-- a lot what-- smitten with Dennis. It’s bad-- but it makes all of this even better. Running high on the win, on Dennis, on how everything feels. He thrusts in, hips moving, and watches Dennis’ big hands curl hard into the white sheets beneath them. Watches his knuckles go white. Has to watch anything besides Dennis’ face to keep from coming right then and there. 

He’s already so close to it-- so desperate for it. 

Joe’s hands go to Dennis’ thighs, nails digging into the muscles there a little and he puts his head down against Dennis’ shoulder and goes a little harder. Dennis’ long legs wrap around Joe’s waist and it’s all over from there. 

Dennis isn’t loud, but the noises he makes are constant. Quiet little raspy breaths and moans. Sometimes it’s Joe’s name. And words-- sometimes only words,  _ more,  _ and  _ please,  _ and  _ yes like that _ . It spurs Joe on. But all his words get stuck, and he just presses light fluttery kisses on Dennis’ shoulder and his chest and closes his eyes tightly. 

He feels Dennis move beneath him, feels Dennis’ knuckles press into his stomach. Joe feels the drag of Dennis’ hand as he strokes himself, not quite in time with Joe’s thrusts, everything is discordant. It feels good, keeps him from losing himself. It gives him a little more drive. He rolls his hips into Dennis. 

Dennis makes more noise, keening “ _ ah ah _ ” noises as Joe angles his thrusts to get deeper. Joe knows it’s as near to perfect as it can get. Dennis is coming apart underneath him and Joe himself is coming apart too. Feeling it right at the seams. He can feel himself losing it. Each time Dennis’ knuckles hit him. 

Each time he thrusts in.

Each time Dennis makes that little noise, somewhere between a keen and a whine. Dennis’ other hand cuffs the back of Joe’s neck, holds him closer. Joe finally moves, shifts again, and places his mouth on Dennis’ to kiss him deep, pressing in. His hands are too tight on Dennis’ hips now and he pulls back after a few moments, trying to get a better angle. 

To finally,  _ finally _ , take all of Dennis in as he fucks him slow and deep. Watches Dennis stroke himself, movement slowly losing rhythm, slick with precome and hard and dark and red. Joe’s mouth falls open, breathing gone shallowed and rasping. 

“Come on, come on,” Joe urges Dennis. “You-- you’re so--” And the words catch again. He can’t tell Dennis how beautiful and perfect he looks. Dennis throws his head back and he squirms, writhes, back arching as he comes. All over his own hand and Joe’s stomach and it’s enough to make Joe finally cry out-- surprised as Dennis clenches around him. 

Joe’s losing his rhythm too, measured thrusts going clumsy. Joe comes without warning, riding out Dennis’ orgasm with his own, keeps thrusting in as Dennis whimpers-- begs-- but for what, Joe doesn’t really hear it. 

It’s several minutes, holding himself up on shaky arms, panting and feeling sweat sting at his skin before Joe has the capacity to  _ move _ and he rolls off of Dennis to remove the condom with a sort of grumbling noise, tossing it to the garbage beside them. 

“You did so good,” Joe says. He’s talking about the game. He thinks Dennis understands. Joe wills himself from bed to get a cloth to clean them up with, which he tosses on the floor before he curls up against Dennis’ side, pillowing his head on his bicep. It’s a little too hot, but he doesn’t care. He kisses whatever part of Dennis he can reach.

Joe feels Dennis’ fingers in his hair and the way he pets down his neck. So maybe this--  _ this _ is as near to perfect as it can be. Joe feels hazy and excited and it’s just--

God, perfect.

He drifts off, warm and happy and sated. 

* * *

Joe has a hangover slightly when he wakes, he feels it mostly, the dull throb right behind his eyes and mostly in the fact that he can feel the sun stabbing him through his eyelids. Something else woke him though-- it’s movement from beside him. 

_ Dennis _ doesn’t have a hangover, because Dennis does not drink. Joe squints at him and then frowns. 

Dennis is getting dressed. Quietly-- sneaking out. 

“Wha--?” Joe tries to ask, but he’s a little fuzzy, and Dennis is looking slightly like a wild animal, eyes wide and bright, frozen mid-getting dressed like he’d been caught out. Of course he had been. 

“You’re a great guy, Joe,” Dennis says. They weren’t even-- they hadn’t been-- but Joe knows that introduction. He feels his heart sink somewhere into his stomach, then settle there like a lump of lead. Throat dry-- probably dehydration maybe from the--

“But we can’t do this again.” Dennis’ voice is firm. The  _ but _ dies on Joe’s tongue and he swallows down his protest as best as he can. Because Dennis is still getting dressed. Dennis’ phone rings and Joe flops back down on to the bed, listening to Dennis coo at Mataya through the phone.

He knows it’s her because he knows her ringtone. Dennis doesn’t look at him as he heads to the door. Doesn’t say another word to him as he closes it behind him. Joe covers his face with his hands and lays there for several moments. 

He isn’t sure how long it is before his own phone is ringing. He answers it. 

“Hey, honey,” Joe answers and puts his game face back on. 


End file.
